RIDING THE L WITH A GHOST
As a kid growing up in the city's west-side, one of my more ebullient adventures was to ride the Lake Street L, get off at Randolph & Wabash, grab a hamburger at Wimpy's and then explore the infatuating floors and features that were Marshall Fields. That was then and this is now....!
Fields is gone and so is its classic maze of 100-year-old departments. Wimpy's too is gone in a puff of McDonald's franchised smoke. But all the rest are still there -- the rickety Lake Street L, the screeching Randolph & Wabash turn, and me. Only this time I was riding along with the ghost of me. I was able (actually I willed to be able) to see myself as I climbed aboard my childhood flying carpet for one last ride.
The ads glaring smartly from their ceiling racks and the passengers staring blankly from their seats all looked the same. More races and less fashion, but still the same cluster of humanity trying to forget why they have to be here. More blue-collared riders and less blue-haired grandmothers taking Emily to "see the Loop,"
yet thoroughly familiar.
Surely what most remained the same were the sights outside the windows.The passing blur of backyards belching their clutter, three-flats exposing their worst side, and what seemed like the very same abandoned cars, tires and garbage. If one thing stands out as a constant across the years, the garbage would be it.
No blue-uniformed conductors at the doors or striding the aisles, for these new cars insist on being as manless and mechanical as possible. Mostly the drone of some faceless voice indifferently reporting the stops. After awhile, you wonder whether anyone is really operating this thing; but then like everything else in our mechanized age, you sit back and take it for granted. Rather, you hope it for granted!
Exiting the car and hurrying down the stairs at Randolph & Wabash, it seems and smells precisely how I remember it. That certain rush of metallic images around you in the shadows of Wabash Avenue, coupled with those hard-to-pinpoint smells. A concoction maybe of machinery oil, city grit and inappreciable whiffs of perfumes. Yes, yes, it was all coming back now! The very same way the sights and smells assaulted my 12-year-old senses when I would clatter down these steps to plunge into my El Dorado on State Street.
However, this was where my little adventure yielded its least results. Macy's is no Fields. The aisles and counters are hardly the same. The shoppers even less so. After cantering the first few floors, my ghost said to me, "Enough!"
But on my way home I thought about that. I may have left too quickly. As I explained to my childhood ghost: "So your world changed on you. So OK you've changed too. Just so long as we keep changing in pace with one another, everything should be fine...."
I expect the two of us will take this trip again.
As a kid growing up in the city's west-side, one of my more ebullient adventures was to ride the Lake Street L, get off at Randolph & Wabash, grab a hamburger at Wimpy's and then explore the infatuating floors and features that were Marshall Fields. That was then and this is now....!
Fields is gone and so is its classic maze of 100-year-old departments. Wimpy's too is gone in a puff of McDonald's franchised smoke. But all the rest are still there -- the rickety Lake Street L, the screeching Randolph & Wabash turn, and me. Only this time I was riding along with the ghost of me. I was able (actually I willed to be able) to see myself as I climbed aboard my childhood flying carpet for one last ride.
The ads glaring smartly from their ceiling racks and the passengers staring blankly from their seats all looked the same. More races and less fashion, but still the same cluster of humanity trying to forget why they have to be here. More blue-collared riders and less blue-haired grandmothers taking Emily to "see the Loop,"
yet thoroughly familiar.
Surely what most remained the same were the sights outside the windows.The passing blur of backyards belching their clutter, three-flats exposing their worst side, and what seemed like the very same abandoned cars, tires and garbage. If one thing stands out as a constant across the years, the garbage would be it.
No blue-uniformed conductors at the doors or striding the aisles, for these new cars insist on being as manless and mechanical as possible. Mostly the drone of some faceless voice indifferently reporting the stops. After awhile, you wonder whether anyone is really operating this thing; but then like everything else in our mechanized age, you sit back and take it for granted. Rather, you hope it for granted!
Exiting the car and hurrying down the stairs at Randolph & Wabash, it seems and smells precisely how I remember it. That certain rush of metallic images around you in the shadows of Wabash Avenue, coupled with those hard-to-pinpoint smells. A concoction maybe of machinery oil, city grit and inappreciable whiffs of perfumes. Yes, yes, it was all coming back now! The very same way the sights and smells assaulted my 12-year-old senses when I would clatter down these steps to plunge into my El Dorado on State Street.
However, this was where my little adventure yielded its least results. Macy's is no Fields. The aisles and counters are hardly the same. The shoppers even less so. After cantering the first few floors, my ghost said to me, "Enough!"
But on my way home I thought about that. I may have left too quickly. As I explained to my childhood ghost: "So your world changed on you. So OK you've changed too. Just so long as we keep changing in pace with one another, everything should be fine...."
I expect the two of us will take this trip again.
As a kid who lived around the corner from you on Thomas Street and who later as a working stiff rode that "L" and experienced those same scenes, I too would be likely to take the trip again. No wonder we feel our youth was special!
ReplyDeleteI've never ridden the L either back then or now, but after reading your piece, I feel I have! I enjoyed the ride.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great article. You reminded me of my childhood. I lived in Fort Wayne, IN and maybe twice a year my mom would send us up to Chicago to stay with our grandma (@ Damon/Lawrence) for a few days. On a couple of visits she would take us to Marshall Fields on the El. I recall all of your descriptions quite well. That was a very good time in my childhood and I still remember my excitement. I was in 5th grade at the time so that would make me 10 years old. I still see the pictures in my mind and reading this brought them forward once more.
ReplyDeleteThanks!
Jerry -- yep we share the magic!
ReplyDeleteAnonymous -- it really was a special ride in a special time!
Atrueoriginall -- love your name and love that I could stir some good memories. Thanks!